So, you’ve found yourself in Oregon, the land of towering evergreens, infinite Columbia Sportswear jackets, and an IPA selection that makes most 5-star Michelin restaurant wine lists look concise. There’s just one problem: you hate IPA’s. Maybe it’s the aggressive bitterness, the way it tastes like chewing on a pinecone, or perhaps the fact that every sip resembles regret. But you can’t admit that—this is Oregon. The social consequences of disliking IPA’s here are only slightly less severe than confessing you don’t compost.

Fear not! This guide will help you convincingly pretend to love IPA’s, ensuring your continued acceptance among the bearded, beanie-clad elite (even though the golden liquid tastes like drinking carbonated lawn clippings with a hint of smugness).

Fake It ‘Til You Gag: The IPA Lover’s Handbook for Frauds

Step 1: Learn The Vocabulary

To truly blend in, you must speak the sacred language of the hop enthusiast. Instead of saying, “Wow, this is disgustingly bitter,” try:

• “Mmm, a strong hop-forward profile.”
• “I really appreciate the floral and citrus undertones.”
• “The IBUs on this must be astronomical!” (IBUs stand for International Bitterness Units. Yes, that’s a real thing. And yes, some people care about it deeply.)

Step 2: Master The IPA Face

Drinking an IPA when you hate it is akin to sucking on a handful of pennies dipped in armpit sweat, but you must hide your suffering. The key is a controlled wince. Take a sip, suppress the reflex to gag, nod knowingly, and let out a slow, thoughtful “Ahhh.” Then, stare at the glass as if you’ve just had a deep personal revelation about your life, not as if a bar of soap had an existential crisis in your mouth

Step 3: Know Your Cover Story

You’ll inevitably be asked “What’s your favorite IPA?” The wrong answer (anything light, fruity, or God forbid, a lager) will expose you instantly. Instead, memorize a safe IPA name—something aggressively hopped and brewed in a garage-turned-brewery in Portland. Here are some solid choices:

• Pliny the Elder (Technically from California, but revered like a religious text in Oregon.)
• Sticky Bandit Double Hop Smash (Or any beer that sounds like a wrestling move.)
• Dank Ferret Imperial IPA (Bonus points for using imperial—that means more alcohol, which helps numb the pain.)

Step 4: Develop A Backup Excuse

If you’re forced to order an IPA and truly can’t stomach it, you need an escape plan. Try:

• “You know what? This one’s great, but it’s a little too mainstream for me.” (No one will challenge this.)
• “I love IPA’s, but I’m really trying to cut down on my gluten intake.” (They won’t push you—Oregonians respect gluten-free struggles.)
• “I’m pacing myself for the next release party at [insert trendy microbrewery name].”

Step 5: Distract With Smug Beer Knowledge

If the conversation lingers, pivot to talking about brewing methods, because nothing shuts down an IPA discussion faster than someone getting too into the science. Throw out lines like:

• “The dry-hopping process really enhances the aroma without increasing bitterness.”
• “I just love a good West Coast-style IPA—so much cleaner than those hazy juice bombs.”
• “Have you tried anything with experimental hops lately? The industry is really evolving.”

Step 6: Fake Your Way Through a Brewery Tour

You will, at some point, find yourself on a brewery tour, nodding along as a heavily tattooed brewer with a man bun explains the sacred art of fermentation. Here’s how to survive:

1. Stare intensely at the giant metal tanks as if they hold the answers to the universe.
2. Occasionally murmur, “The craftsmanship here is unreal.”
3. When they pass out tasting samples, swirl it like wine, sniff dramatically, and then take the smallest possible sip.
4. If you must comment, just say, “I love the complexity.” This is a universally accepted brewery compliment and means absolutely nothing.

Conclusion: Is It Worth It?

Will this charade eventually lead you to truly appreciate IPA’s? Maybe. Stockholm Syndrome is real. But if not, at least you’ll have preserved your Oregonian street cred long enough to sneak away and order a hard cider when no one’s looking.

Stay strong, friends. Stay bitter. And most importantly—stay believable.